Release
by augustblueee
Summary: His eyes look empty. His eyes look like they crave something and it almost makes her wish she'd have slept. She cannot let him in. She will break, and then flood, and she will make a mess of things she'd so warily built for her defenses. She can't afford to be so fragile. (angsty!lingfan, catharsis, and plenty of emotional release.)


There is no reason for Lan Fan to look cold, but she does, and it worries Ling endlessly.

They're on their way back to Xing, still three in company, but this time Mei Chang is the third with them, and not Fu. Ling knows how much Lan Fan must be hurting. He's in pain, too, grieving silently in the dark to himself. Regardless, he pushes forward.

Lan Fan does too, but she looks so cold, and he knows Lan Fan is always warm, whether she is angry or smiling or in rare moments _laughing_ —it is strange, so unlike her.

She shouldn't look cold, either. They have the desert heat swirling around them, and the small fire burning down to embers between them, and Lan Fan's hair falling on her clothed shoulders.

The worst part, he wonders, is that she doesn't look cold as if she has the eyes of a killer or the eyes of a girl who'd lost her arm, or even the eyes of a girl who'd stared down the fallen king of Amestris that had taken said arm from her.

No. She looks cold because she looks lonely, because she's locked up every strand of sorrow behind her clay mask and tightly pursed lips and too thick silence between too formal conversation. Every reply is quick—not curt, but cut short more than usual—as if she is teetering on the edge of breaking, and if she were to break, everything would pour out and create disaster.

Never once has Ling Yao considered that silence could be so deafening, yet Lan Fan makes it so.

The stars glimmer up above him, stretched across the sky beautifully. Mei is fast asleep. Lan Fan pretends that she is. He knows she isn't because she always sleeps on her back or stomach (and other, more rare times sitting up), ready to stand at a moment's notice. She doesn't curl up on her side and tuck her head just slightly to her chest. She doesn't sleep like she is ready to weep at a moment's notice.

He sits up and glances over.

"Lan Fan," he calls out to the open air, letting it sink into the sand underneath them.

She stiffens and takes a pause before speaking. His voice had sounded so desolate. "Yes?"

Fingers run through his hair, then curl into a fist, drawn with his thumb rubbing his fingers anxiously. He crawls over to her now.

Lan Fan turns over and sits upright. His eyes look empty. His eyes look like they crave something and it almost makes her wish she'd have slept.

"Why won't you cry, Lan Fan?" He asks, and he is met with that same coldness, that lonesome part of her that creeps more and more into her face, into her voice.

"There is no reason for me to cry."

"You're human Lan Fan. Fu wouldn't expect you to not cry."

Eyes widen and squeeze shut, darting away from his uneasily. She cannot let him in. She will break, and then flood, and she will make a mess of things she'd so warily built for her defenses. She can't afford to be so fragile.

"Grandfather isn't _here_ ," she manages, licking her lips slowly, swallowing down something that made her want to cry.

"You don't have to be so strong."

"It is my duty to be strong. If I show weakness at any moment's notice I will not be able to protect you, my lord," she says, voice dropping, low in her throat, caught between something sad and so, so desperate. The way she speaks is to keep him from pushing further.

Ling Yao has always been stubborn.

"You cannot be strong when you are simply hiding your weaknesses, Lan Fan. You have to make them stronger. You can't just shove them inside you and expect them to disappear," he breathes the last few words out and his hand moves over to her, cradling her palm in his own for comfort.

Her eyes meet his. His gaze is unwavering.

"Please," he whispers, thumb caressing her flesh hand as if to coax it out of her.

"I _can't_ , Ling," she answers, feeling her throat constrict, feeling what she'd thought had been thwarted cling dangerously to her lungs, her heart, her eyes, threatening to come out at any moment's notice.

"No one will think you are weak. _I_ won't think you are weak. If anyone thinks you are weak they will answer to me," he states, almost to himself in comfort, still establishing his protection over her.

She finds him again, eyes flickering between his cheeks and his lips and back up to his eyes. The moment his hands cup her cheeks, all things tender and loving, she cannot stop her tears.

With her head drooped into the crook of his neck between fabric and skin to quiet herself, she cries. Everything she's built comes tumbling down before her. His hands run down her back, embracing her tight, holding her together. She leans into him, nearly falling forward into his lap, hands clutching at his shirt fervently, as if he might leave, too, in this vast expanse of nothingness before them. She cannot take another loss. She fears it might leave her too broken. Her sobs grow louder and so he wraps himself around her, holding her fast. It feels like he is shielding her from the world. His voice soothes her.

"It's alright, Lan Fan, I'm here." With her fingers gripping tighter at his words he has to bite down on his lip to keep from crying.

When she pulls away to look at him though, he feels fresh tears well up and spill out over his cheeks before he can stop them.

"Oh, Lan Fan, I'm so sorry. _Lan Fan_ ," he murmurs to her with one hand holding the back of her head and the other rubbing down her shoulders.

She doesn't care now. Making her way into his lap is too easy because it is more than welcomed by him. With the way he grasps at her it feels like he is mourning for her more than anything else, something grateful hiding in the way he cries like this with her. Prying her hands from his shirt and his chest is hard but she does it anyways, then smooths over his hair, cups his cheeks. His own hands find her face and ghost over her skin lightly, taking care not to bring her any closer.

He fears that if he does he might kiss her.

Ling settles for brushing his lips against her forehead quietly, her breathing shaky but evening out. Her tears are warm, fresh on his neck and cheek, and that in itself is comforting.

She doesn't look so cold now, despite grief wearing at her face.

With how she lies back slowly he knows that the motion is purposely prolonged, that she wants to feel his hands there for a little while longer. Duty and propriety scream in the back of her head. He knows this and still he lies down with her, tangles their hands into one another and looks down at her softly. Too softly.

A choked breath comes from her when he pulls her closer and kisses her forehead again.

" _Ling_ ," and it is almost a warning, a line drawn in the sand between them.

He nods and presses his forehead to hers. "I know, I know." She feels him breathe right over her, hears how his heart in his throat has sped up and with how his hands curl tighter into hers—both flesh and metal—and knows he wants to so, so badly.

Her head presses to his chest, listening for his heart there and trying so hard to will it to still. Arms move to draw her closer and bring her to rest.

"Lan Fan, should you ever need to cry, _please_ —"

"I know," she whispers, "I know."

"Will you stay like this for the night?"

Lan Fan nods numbly, burying her face in his chest again. What she doesn't say is that she would spend the rest of her nights like this if only she could. With his arms around her she feels like the protected one. Instead of everything have been sealed away she's let it out and Ling had been there to catch and soak up and take all of it from her.

For the first time in a very long time Lan Fan feels safe. Of all things, being tucked in his arms and warmed by his skin makes her feel safe. Out in the desert between the freedoms of Amestris and the warmth of Xing, she feels at home.

"Will you wake me before Mei—?" With the way she cuts herself off it's almost like she cannot finish that sentence. It pains her to do so.

The question gnaws at his chest. He understands though. "Yes. _Yes_. Of course. Just please, rest now, alright?"

She nods again, leaning against and into him, curling her fingers close to wherever she can find his clothes, his skin, _him_.

When Mei _does_ wake in the morning, and she observes the both of them, she makes note that they are sleeping intertwined with one another like they are two lovers having confessed at last rather than the future emperor and his bodyguard.

She decides not to disturb them, smiling down at Xiao Mei, and doesn't make any comments once they rouse from sleep or with how they gaze at each other the next day. After all, the sad worn circles in their eyes had somewhat been eased away.

Perhaps if she stays silent, she muses, they might actually cross the line between emperor and bodyguard and two confessed lovers.


End file.
